FROM MY WINDOW.

Shannon News, 8 December 1922, Page 4

FROM MY WINDOW.

No. XXVIII.—COMPENSATIONS. . (By ETERA.) “When God closes a door, He opens a window.” * W 7.' * * Have you ever seen a pigeongram? It is used between places that have no telephonic communication, and consists of a'very fine piece of tissue paper upon which the message is written. This is roiled up tightly and fitted into a Waterproof metal 1 case like a pencil-holder that is made of the lightest Weight metal obtainable. This tube is clasped in two places around the leg of a homer pigeon that has been awaiting it, boxed up in the strange township or settlement. After being libex*ated with this equipment, the pigeon ftys up into the air, circles three times to find Its bearings, then makes a beerline for home, leg and message tucked under wing. It very rarely fails to reach its destination, unless it meets with stonily weather against which the poor little traveller cannot battle. Care is therefore taken to study the weather before liberating the bird. May the dove of peace convey this message of hope through an opened window to someone who is a “down and outer,” and tuhi him into an “up and abouter.”

Several times in the midst of one woman’s deepest suffering, when merely to exist was an effort, she has noticed some extraneous influence at work. She has felt the soothing touch as of a mother’s hand over her face, shoulders and hands, gently pressing and smoothing away the; wrinkles of pain: and this at the time when her own mother was still with her, but resting in another room. Whence came that comfort? Surely it was some heavenly messenger sent to help her in the time of greatest need, and to make the pain bearable. Most moments are bearable, if one only does not import into them the weight of the future and the regret of the past. Some people borrow trouble from both sources. One will tell you that she is better now, but that for eighteen months she was in agony. This you take with a grain of salt, because you cannot picture anyone being in that alarming state for so long and surviving it. You wonder whether she has been reading the experiences of the lady pictured in the.booklet, who with hands pressing the fifth button of her waistcoat, says she feels a different woman alter swallpwing six bottles of something: there is no need to be told that every picture tells a story—you have already guessed that. Another will say: “Oh, I am in such trouble now, how shall I be able to bear up at Christmas-time?” Dear woman, it is one of the compensations of sorrow that we are given strength to bear what each day needs, and the to-morroWs are left to take care of themselves ii we leave them, alone.

Anticipate joy if you like, for a third of happiness lies in its anticipatory contemplation, one-third in its realisation, and the last third lies in the memory. Pleasant memories help in time's of trouble, for “sorrow’s crown of sorrow is remembering happier things.” , But live only for to-day where sorrow is concerned. ■X 1 #

One can learn a big lesson in bravery from a youthful friend in our midst, who was cycling aloiig some time ago sound in limb one minute, the next minute the owner of several broken bones. Could, he not be forgiven if he showed the white leather in these circumstances? But that is a question that is superfluous to ask, for no white feather is existent in this dieroic being. Instead, in bis recovery ;hp is setting a shining example to many a grown person in his acceptance of things as they are. His character will be all the stronger for this and though years may elapse before the blessing shows, compensation will follow sooner or later.

“I walked a mile; with Pleasure, She chatted all the way, But left me none the wiser For all she had to say. I walked a mile with Sorrow, And ne’er a word said she. But, oh! the things I learned from her When Sorrow walked with me!” * * * * * Great thoughts are the product of physical wealme&s, examples of which we have: all through the world’s history of men and women in their accomplishment of great works in spite of—or shall I say “because of” bodily weakness. Nelson was blind in one eye; Sir Walter Scott was lame through, infantile paralysis in childhood; Beethoven was deaf; Milton, blind; Moses was slow in speech, probably he stammered; St. Paul had some '“thorn, in, the flesh,” probably an impediment' in his speech or weak eyesight; and yet their works live long after, their mortal selves are dust. One man says, “Difficulties are the stones

out of which all God’s houses are built.” Another teaphes: “That which

makes night in a man may. leave stars.’ By personal experience..! have found that alter a, “dark night”.some special joy is sent which acts. as pompensation.

One friend who possesses the pen of. a ready writer has several , times sent a veiy humorous letter.. Now, on receipt of one of these I lo.ok with apprehension to the} end, knowing, only too well that in a kind ,of "aside” he will mention the fact that, he is home with a sharp,,attack $ lumbago I Here the strop#, mind, refuses to become subservient to bodily weakness, and rises triumpdant over the accompanying, groap. * * *> ‘ » •» Our best plan in life is to accept things are they are, and extract, all. of “Methustlah ate what he. found pn,his plate, Nor thought he was going to die Because it was lacking, in granular fat' Or a couple of vitammes shy. He cheerfully chewed every species of, food, Untroubled by \yorHes,or fpars, Lest his health might’be hurt by some fancy dessert, ' 'And he lived over Nine. Hundred Years!”

She was a cheery little woman who used to, bring a new baby nearly every year for use to admire, and she had twelve opportunities for doing this. One baby was a very funny little specimen, of whom, however, she was doubly proud. She told liis history by addressing the baby thus: “Yes, Mother’s precious one, we call you ‘Pederwhiski,” don’t weP Because you were so ill wet had to feed you on whisky. And we thought aIT you would need—yes we did—would be a funeral, so we sold your clothes, you precious bit; and you went and' got better, and we had to make you a fresh lot'of clothes!” The mother’s eyes twinkled, and I believe the baby winked. «f* * * « “What’s de use o’ always weepin’, Makin’ trouble last? What’s de use o’ always keepin’ Thinkin’ o’ do past? Each must hab his tribulation; Watah With his wine. Life? It am no CelebrationTrouble? Ah’ve had mine; But to-day am fine. “It’s to-day dat ah’m livin’, Not a. month, ago; ] Havin’, losin’, takin’, giving | As Time will it so. ! Yesterday a cloud o’ sorrow j Fell across de way;. { It may rain again to-morrow— j It may rain, but, say, ' | Ain’t it fine to-day?”, I